


behind closed doors

by outofaith



Series: history of melancholia [2]
Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Borderline Personality Disorder, Depression, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23084218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outofaith/pseuds/outofaith
Summary: spilling words and facts that taint my everyday life
Series: history of melancholia [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1653322
Kudos: 1





	behind closed doors

She thought she was better. Better than this. Better than falling back into old patterns. Better than relapsing. 

At first, it seemed like a faraway possibility. Why would she want to go back to that never ending hole of white powder, running nose, bleeding nose, thin veins and purple spots on the insides of her arms? Why would she do that if the coming down is simply unbearable? If the days after are full of dizziness, nausea and headaches? Why would she want that?

Maybe because the high is always so seductive. She’s on top of the world, no one can touch her or make her feel bad. Tragic, really – considering the reality is everything but that. When they look at her they see a beaming smile, perfect make-up and hair always clean. Nice clothes, expensive perfume and sparkling eyes. Top of the class, easy-going girl with a carefully crafted speech.

It’s not like that behind the closed doors of her bedroom. It’s more along the lines of an agonizing cry for help, spinning head and spilled drinks on the floor. White lines on top of heavy books and too many pills only to be able to get through the day. 

It’s more along the lines of scratching and scrubing my body until it’s red and almost bleeding under the scalding water of the shower on a vain attempt to get rid of the feel of wandering hands along her body. It’s gasping for air because of the ghost feeling of fingers wrapped tight around her mouth and nose. 

“Shhh, don’t make a noise, baby, gonna give you what you want.” Whispered, taunting and menacing even years after.

It’s banalizing sex and never being able to have it unless drunk or high, because who would want a damaged woman who lost her virginity when she was fourteen and asleep? Who would want a body tainted by four sets of hands who ripped her clothes off on a dark alley while she was crying and screaming for help? 

It’s more along these lines, I’m afraid.


End file.
